Medea was, well, not exactly happy about this new transaction. She could feel the weight of what the gods called love resting against her heart, her heart rate rising, the pure image of her “love” fresh in her mind. She hated it. She purely hated it. She hated the feeling, she hated the gods. But no matter how much she tried to, she couldn’t hate the man she was now fated to be in love with. It was almost impossible to do for her. Medea stood from her chair, her eyes flaring angrily. The fire in front of her flickered and crackled, the sweet scent of burning sugar paper in the air. There was a few bookcases around, filled with books from the ages that maybe only Medea herself could read. The language of the gods on the pages in the rotting leather books
Her temper flared inside of her, heat rising and rising to the tipping top of her head, and then she finally got angry. She picked up a chair next to her easily, and threw it again the wall at 10 mph, shattering it into many pieces all over the floor and wall. Her chest heaved, her fingers clenched. She decided she needed to get out of her house, she needed to watch the life escape this plane. She went to her armoury, picking up her many engraved knives, her two pistols, and nothing more. She went down to the streets, prowling them like a dark shadow, a being of the ancient times, a being of magic and power.
She stalked around the corner of the alley, deep in the city were murders like what was about to happen occurred all the time. She stepped up to a gruff looking biker of a man, but the look in medeas eyes warned the man of what to come but before he could say a word or shout out or fight back, a knife was lodged just below the rib, warm blood soaking her knife. She smiled, a crazy, psychotic smile that would warn anyone to put her in a psych ward. She looked him in the eyes, the shine and shimmer slowly leaving his now dull eyes, his heartbeat slowing down rapidly. She pulled the knife out, the stabbed him.